


They Paved Paradise and Put in a Graveyard

by CatHeights



Series: No Emerald City [1]
Category: Oz - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is Oz any preparation for the Apocalypse? A priest and 4 convicts try to survive the aftermath of humanity's biggest screw-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Paved Paradise and Put in a Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an AU with everything up through Season 3 having occurred. I'm picking and choosing from plot points in Season 4. A line from the Season 4 episode, _Works of Mercy_, is included. This is a horror story, so expect scenes of a dark nature throughout.

The fabric was worn beneath his hands. In another lifetime this might have been someone's favorite TV chair, a small escape in a high-pressured world. Maybe some guy leaned back, drink in one hand, remote in the other, as he tried to forget about asshole senior partners with egos bigger than their fucking houses. Back when there was TV and jobs and families and when you were too stupid to realize how unbelievably lucky you were.

It reminded him of that Joni Mitchell song, "Big Yellow Taxi." The refrain of "you don't know what you've got till it's gone," ran through his head. He'd thought he'd learned that lesson when he landed in Oz, but even with all he'd been through there, he'd had no idea just how much they'd all had to lose. Congratulations to the human race, you turned paradise into a fucking graveyard. Way to press your luck. And to the survivors go miles and miles of empty houses and decaying bodies. Aren't you lucky to be alive?

Enough. He wasn't supposed to be thinking, but rather living in the moment—forgetting.

Beecher pressed his hands harder into the soft arms of the chair, bracing his arms to give himself more lift. Then he pushed himself down taking Chris's cock all the way into him. He pushed up and down again, faster and harder, ignoring Chris's hands on his hips trying to slow him down. No, it had to be like this. Beecher needed the pleasure to be so intense that he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between it and pain. He slowed for a moment and rolled his hips. Chris moaned and arched upward. _Yes, meet me._ He picked up his pace again. More, more, more. Except it wasn't enough. Beecher pressed down hard and stilled, breathing heavily.

"Toby?"

He rubbed the side of Chris's thigh. "Against the wall."

As he inched off, he hissed feeling Chris's cock slide out of him. Beecher hated the empty feeling. He moved quickly to the wall and rested his head against his arm, making sure not to look out the window. The soft touch on his back, stroking down his spine, made him shudder. It was so gentle and just wrong. It wasn't what he needed.

When he felt a hand stroking his cock, thumb soothing across the slit, his patience broke. "Chris, what are you waiting for, divine intervention?"

The hand on his cock froze, and for a second, Beecher thought he might have gone too far. _Please, no, don't stop. I need this. You have to understand_. But before an all out panic could start, he felt Chris place a kiss at the base of his spine and remove his hand. Then Chris was slamming into him giving him exactly what he needed.

"Harder." Beecher almost lost his footing as Chris responded to the demand. _Yes, like this._ It felt like he could feel Chris all the way through him. Nothing could come between them like this; nothing could tear away the last person who mattered to him.

"Harder." The word was a shout this time.

"Fuck, Toby."

"Harder." Beecher raised his head, but kept his eyes closed. He braced his palms against the wall, feeling the burn in his wrists as the force of Chris's thrusts threw his weight forward. His cock was so hard it ached, but he refused to touch it. This was how it felt to be alive, every sense yearning and wanting. It was how it felt to be awake and connected. He wanted it to last.

"Toby, I ain't gonna...."

Beecher cut Chris off. "As hard as you can for as long as you can." Slowing down would mean thinking. Nothing lasts, so why should he waste energy on that illusion. Take what you need when you can get it.

Chris's thrusts came so fast and hard that the force of his hands hitting the wall made it sound like something was breaking. The sound was fabulous. The rawness of it made him give in and stroke his cock. He wobbled with only one hand to keep himself standing under Chris's assault.

With despair he felt Chris come. Warmth filled him. "Don't leave," Beecher said as he stroked his cock harder, fisting it roughly. Chris's hand moved to his cock, and Beecher let go and rested his head back on the wall, letting Chris bring him off.

He wasn't aware he was crying as Chris pulled out of him, until he felt the kiss on his nape and heard the whispered words, "It's gonna be all right, Toby. It's gonna be all right."

The tears were pointless and surprising. He wouldn't have thought he could still cry. Beecher stood up, reaching back for Chris's hand. He pulled it around his waist and leaned back. Finally, he opened his eyes, and his gaze fell on the window. In the dimming light outside a pack of dogs were dragging something down the street, fighting over it. It looked like a human leg.

No, it wasn't all right. It wasn't ever going to be all right again. Beecher turned to face Chris and kissed him. "Come on. We should go to sleep."

*~*~*~*~

 

"Morning love birds." Ryan stood in the driveway of the house next door to the one they'd spent the night in. His cockiness was so obviously forced that Beecher felt no need to make a sarcastic reply or say anything at all. Keller just nodded. Ryan's jaw tightened, and he looked away.

Miguel came up to stand beside him, leaving Mukada to lurk a few steps behind, which was as it normally was these days. "At least these houses still have power. Man, was it nice to take a hot shower."

"Don't get used to it. You're not likely to find a hot shower wherever we end up next." Beecher shrugged. "I imagine soon we might even have trouble getting water. The water towers have to run out at some point, and the pumps will stop. Not to mention the purification plants will cease working, if they haven't already."

"You're a real killjoy, Beecher." Ryan shook his head. "How about just agreeing it felt fucking good to take a hot shower?"

Ryan had stepped in closer to Miguel as he talked, and Beecher found himself wondering if they were fucking and had been doing so before the world turned into a horror novel. It wasn't that he really cared, but pondering gave his brain something to do. While there were no open displays of affection and no unnecessary touching, there was also no denying the two men were close. Conversations were had with just a look. You had to know someone well to engage in that sort of silent communication. In those final days in Oz, it had been Miguel who had gotten through to Ryan when Cyril turned. Beecher remembered when they had barricaded themselves in the cafeteria, trying to holdout until the mutations died, how Miguel had rested his hand against the back of Ryan's bowed neck. There had been no awkwardness to the comforting gesture.

Beecher was so deep in thought that it surprised him to hear Keller asking, "Why don't we stay for a few days? At least there's electricity."

"No." Beecher shook his head. "We're still too close to the city. Too many people lived here."

"And we don't know if the mutation is deadly for everyone." Mukada spoke softly. He kept his head down, not making eye contact. Perhaps he felt he still only traveled with them on Miguel's sufferance.

Ryan and Miguel exchanged a look. Ryan kicked at a rock on the driveway. He looked at Keller. "Ain't worth the risk. We should keep moving."

Keller shrugged. "Ok."

They restocked their backpacks and then began walking down the empty street. It was an unusually warm April day, reminding him that soon summer would be upon them. Heat and a decaying world would not be a good combination. If his brain had been capable of a single rational thought when they'd fled Oz, he would have told them no fucking way were they heading toward the city, but everything until the moment the bus died and they ended up stuck in the city was a blur. The only thing he remembered was Keller at one point squeezing his hand and pressing a shirt against the bleeding wound in his side and saying, "Don't you fucking leave me, Toby. You hear me. Stay with me. I've got you."

Beecher slowed his pace and lifted up his shirt, staring curiously at the wound that faded into a scar more and more every day. He couldn't even remember being attacked.

A hand on his elbow made him drop his shirt. "Toby, you ok?"

"There's not a single thing that's ok anymore."

"Wrong question, but you know what I fucking meant. Is your side bothering you?"

"No."

"You seemed kinda out of it."

"I was just thinking."

"What about?"

"I don't know." Beecher pulled away from Keller and walked faster putting distance between them. He didn't need questions. Behind him, he could hear Keller sigh. An echo of feeling let him know he should feel bad about the way he'd been treating Keller, but you couldn't act on an echo. It was just a glimmer that disappeared when the sunlight hit it the wrong way. He knew Keller was looking out for him, had been doing so through all of this, but here in the daylight he's just Keller, not Chris, not his lover. He was just a man walking beside him. He won't be Chris again until night falls. Beecher didn't know why it changed for him once the sun began to set. He didn't question these things in the daylight.

As they turned the corner, Miguel stopped. "Shit."

The block ahead looked like an inferno had rolled through it. What houses remained were so charred that it seemed as if the slightest wind would cause them to collapse. The sun gleamed off melted metal—even the cars had been mutated into something different.

Mukada whispered something softly. Beecher guessed it was a prayer. He wondered who it was for. The dead didn't need prayers anymore, and God's answering service seemed to have stopped working for the living. A chuckle bubbled up inside Beecher. _We're sorry all prayer lines to God are full as the apocalypse has begun, please try your prayer again later._ The mangled sound that came out of his mouth didn't sound like a laugh, more like a moan.

Keller grabbed his arm and turned him away from the street. "We'll go around." The others followed him in silence.

They'd barely gone ten steps when the sound of a bird chirping made them freeze. It was a sparrow. In another life, it would have been amusing to see men who'd murdered frozen in their tracks by the double chirp of a sparrow. Except, he could feel his heart pounding. Their bloody run in with city pigeons was one of the few vivid memories Beecher had post-Oz. Right now he wished it weren't so vivid, because he couldn't stop picturing running for cover as the screams of the men they'd been fighting with echoed behind them. Later when they had looked out, they'd seen that the birds had picked off most of the men's skin.

It turned out animals who had digested large amounts of human food with the typomonoglycerin additive, or Zombie Sauce as Ryan called it, like many humans, turned extremely violent with an inexhaustible hunger. Beecher would love to get his hands on the person whose fucking brilliant idea it had been to decide rather than stop polluting the world, all we needed to do was make sure humans were immune to the effects of various pollutants. And what better way to accomplish that task? A vaccine? No, people would decide not get it. So the answer had been a food additive, of course, which was perfectly safe according to all the regulatory agencies. _Fuck my ass, FDA!_ The company chosen to develop the vaccine was top notch, one they had first hand experience with in Oz—Wygert. After all who better than a corporation with major fuck-ups on its record like aging drugs that kill criminals (but hey what's a few dead cons) to be entrusted with developing a safe additive that would boost human immunity to pollutants.

Everyone involved should have been brought up on charges and tossed into prison. What was he thinking—they along with the rest of the world had gotten a death sentence. He kind of hoped the bastards turned out to be one of the hearty survivors whose genetic makeup didn't react to the additive and that they were eaten alive by birds or something even more horrific. There should be some satisfaction in that thought, except at some point he'll probably come to just as horrific an end. They escaped from Oz, but there's no escape from the world. Well, unless you consider death the final escape.

The sparrow double-chirped again and flew off. It had seemed normal, but that meant nothing these days. They resumed walking. The next street over was no better. The smell should have been a warning, but so much stunk these days that while you didn't get used to the scents, they did fade into the background. Beecher used to have dreams where he was out of Oz and sprawled beneath a tree. In those dreams, the scent of fresh cut grass always tickled his nose. The reality of getting out of Oz turned out to be a world that smelled like rotten eggs or worse.

The bodies were piled in the middle of the street. They must have gotten cornered or maybe the mutants had started to eat each other, because it looked like one guy had been eating another's head and must have died mid snack.

"Fucking zombies." Ryan's voice wavered. He turned and quickly walked away. Beecher noticed that Miguel hurried to catch up to him, and that Ryan slowed down when Miguel grabbed his arm. They stopped for a minute, but they were too far away for Beecher to make out what Miguel was saying.

He, Keller and Mukada seemed momentarily frozen by the sight. Some things the brain couldn't process immediately. Beecher found himself noticing small details, like the way the color hadn't faded on a woman's red coat. Except for the dirt marking the edges, it looked new. Hopefully she was the type who found comfort in fashion because at least she'd went to her death looking her very best. Then he noticed the small hand peeking out from beneath the woman's body, and all thought stopped. He didn't think about children.

_Daddy, when are you coming home? I don't feel so good, and I'm scared._

The sound of someone gagging made Toby jump. He realized with surprise that it was Keller. Instinct had him reach out for Keller and guide him away from the atrocity. He shooed away flies as they walked. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Keller swallowed. "Thanks, Toby."

The last words were said softly, and the look on Keller's face was filled with so much relief and gratitude that it made Beecher's stomach go into free fall. He suddenly was very aware of the feel of Keller's arm beneath his hand. Memories of other times he'd offered comfort to this man battered to be heard. _Toby, I died, and there's no white light._ No, not now, no thoughts like this now. He'd never be able to keep going. Beecher released Keller's arm and walked ahead of him.

He realized Mukada hadn't followed them when Miguel walked past him, his forehead wrinkled in concern. Beecher smirked as Ryan followed closely behind.

"Father come on? Let's get the hell out of here."

Mukada blinked at Miguel. "Yes, let's leave."

As they moved on, Beecher let the landscape fade and retreated into his mind. Ryan kept calling the mutants zombies, but the facts deemed that label inaccurate. To be a zombie you had to die and reanimate. And while surely that was bad, what happened with the mutants was much worse. First you felt mildly bad, and then the fever hit and the first violent impulses struck. He'd not seen anyone who'd been able to rein in those impulses. But then the condition seemed to remit, giving you one last rational moment to be horrified before the mutation finished altering your body. You spent your last days on earth a monster.

On second thought, perhaps Ryan was right. Maybe zombie was an accurate label. Surely the label could cover a variety of types. This form rather than starting with death and having you devour others, started first with devouring the parts of your own brain that had once made you human. Plus this variety had a built in expiration date—the mutation devoured the person just as the person devoured others. Besides who was he to put limits on a definition? As far as he knew before this, fiction and movies were all anyone had to go on as far as what constituted a zombie, and it wasn't like he'd been a zombie expert anyway. Zombie, mutant, what did it matter? It all equated to death.

"Woah, hold up." Ryan detoured off toward a huge gray Victorian house. Other than a few broken windows, this house seemed to have fared better than those surrounding it. While not victims of fire, the houses in this block had obviously seem some heavy violence.

"Care to share with the rest of the class, O'Reily?" Keller stood with his arms crossed.

"Hold your horses, K-boy." Ryan moved toward a large shed that was off to the side and slightly behind the house. He kneeled and peered into an opening where a piece of wood was missing from the shed. He raised a fist. "Yes, I thought I saw a tire. There's a car in here."

They hurried over to Ryan, and when Beecher peered through the opening sure enough inside was an SUV, a Ford Explorer in what seemed like perfect condition from this angle.

"Shit, man, how did you see that?" Miguel's voice held admiration.

"Damn good eyes."

"Really good eyes." Mukada looked impressed.

Ryan grinned at the priest. "Let's get inside, so we can take it for a joy ride."

"I wonder how they kept it from the hordes." Beecher frowned.

"Don't look much like a garage." Miguel shrugged. "It ain't where people were expecting to find a car."

"Maybe. It's so strange that there's so little damage here." Beecher stared up at the house. It loomed, strong and unbroken, and yet had an aura of hollowness, but that was to be expected. The world was hollow. "It's a bit like we're standing in what was the neutral zone in a bloody battle. Wonder what kept the neutrality?"

It took a minute for Beecher to realize his words had been met with silence. Curious he turned to look at his companions and found them each staring back at the house, unease on their faces.

"Not much point in wondering. I'm gonna check out the house." Keller spoke in a bored tone, as if he had nothing better to do than check out the big house with its potentially haunting secrets. His gaze, though, was sharp, alert for any potential dangers.

"I'll go with you." Ryan motioned toward the others. "You guys get our car free. Let's blow this town."

Beecher watched Keller walk away, and the desire to follow him hit like a flash flood, roiling inside him until he ruthlessly tamped down on the urge, rolling back his emotions until they were once again calm waters of nothing. Instead, he focused on the way the brittle wood felt against his fingers as he tugged at it, the sharp pain as a splinter sliced his pinky. This was a stupid way to try to get at the car. Besides, even if they managed to get to the car, which he highly doubted, what were the chances it would have gas? How could someone have kept this gas guzzler full in the waning days?

"Shit." Miguel shook his hand, obviously a splinter victim. "This ain't working." He began to walk around the yard, scanning the ground. He shook his head and moved to the front of the large shed, removed his backpack, and then suddenly ran at the door. Miguel tumbled out of sight.

"Miguel!" Mukada shouted as he ran toward the front of the shed.

Beecher shook his head. Nice to know he wasn't the only crazy bastard in the group. He walked over to the doorway. The door swung barely hinged, kind of like him. As he stepped inside, Mukada was helping Miguel to his feet. Beecher also noticed the door's locking mechanism lying on the floor. Obviously they weren't the first people to try to get in here. A stain on the floor, which looked a lot like dried blood, gave him the impression that whomever had made a previous attempt had reached the end of this dark adventure.

Miguel laughed as he wiped dust off his pants. "Man, guess we should have tried the door first." He felt around in his pockets and of course came up with something to help him break into the car.

Beecher had to give Miguel, Ryan and Keller credit. No matter what the circumstances, they'd proved to be rather resourceful. He made a mental note to add to his "How to Survive the Apocalypse, At Least for a Little While" book to make sure you have a few cons in your post-apocalypse band of travelers.

By the time Keller and Ryan had returned, Miguel had managed to get the SUV's door open.

"Yo Alvarez, glad to see you won the battle with door."

"It never stood a chance." Miguel grinned at Ryan and then whistled. "There was a weapon's cache inside?"

Beecher raised an eyebrow. Both Keller and Ryan had several rifles in their arms. They'd had weapons back in the city, but had discarded them when the ammunition ran out.

"Yep." Keller put the rifles he was holding on the floor. "And lucky for us there's ammunition too. There's some more loaded rifles inside that we should grab before we head out."

"Sounds like someone tried to make one hell of a last stand." Beecher noticed that Keller wasn't meeting his eyes.

It was Ryan who responded. "Yeah." His jaw tightened for a second, but then he took a deep breath and his devil may care expression slid into place. "What's up with the car?"

"Your chariot awaits." Miguel leaned against the door. "But unless you found some keys inside, we're going to have to handle this like professionals."

"Ah, well you're in luck. I'm the best." Keller walked over to the car door.

Ryan snorted as he put the rifles he'd been carrying next to Keller's stash. "As if." He joined them by the door. "No alarm?"

Miguel shrugged. "Nope. If I were them, I would have disabled it. Too much of a risk if it went off."

Beecher stepped back, letting the ribbing of the three men fade to background noise. It was a good noise though. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had seemed so excited. Of course, even if the car had gas, it wouldn't take them far. Once it was empty there would be no refill. And that assumed they'd be able to find roads to drive on. He shook his head. Ryan was right. He was a killjoy.

Mukada came to stand next to him, and Beecher turned to him. "Do you think we're in Hell?" The question was academic. What did it matter if this was "the hell" or not, as it surely fit a definition of Hell. He was curious as to what the priest's answer would be.

"I don't know, Tobias."

Fair enough. He didn't know much himself these days. "I never pictured myself at the end of days."

"Neither did I." Mukada sighed and then repeated softly, "Neither did I."

The sound of an engine starting filled the shed, and then there was cheering. "Yes," O'Reily shouted. "Almost a full tank."

Keller high fived Ryan. "I'm gonna go get the rest of the rifles."

Beecher followed without thought. "I'm coming with you." As Keller turned to face him, he knew he was about to be told that wasn't a good idea. He didn't let Keller waste his breath. "Whatever's inside I'm sure I've seen something else just as bad. Let's go." He started walking, and Keller fell in beside him.

The house was a graveyard, an open tomb whose contents festered in plain sight. He gagged as did Keller. The smell made his eyes water. They moved quickly through the house with Keller handing him still loaded rifles as they went. Beecher couldn't help looking at the dead to see how they had died. By the number of bullet wounds to the skull he saw, it wasn't hard to imagine what had occurred.

This group of people must have holed up inside the house, surviving until what Beecher thought of as the Last Fucking Chaos, when the breakout in mutations went wild. As they watched their friends, spouses, and children turn, they must have decided it was better to end it on their terms. Or perhaps just one or a few made the decision for all. Did it really matter how it had happened? Their story had come to a bloody end like that of so many others.

Keller and he exited the house in silence. When they got back to the SUV, the rest of the rifles had been loaded into the car, but Ryan and Miguel were both armed. Keller kept a rifle for himself and handed one to Beecher.

He offered one to Mukada, but the priest declined it with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't know how to use it."

Keller shrugged. "We can give you lessons." He smiled.

Mukada said nothing watching him with unease. Beecher knew Keller frightened Mukada. Keller knew it as well, which of course meant he couldn't resist touching the priest's shoulder as he went by. Beecher shook his head.

"I found her, so I'm driving first," Ryan said as he got behind the wheel.

Miguel placed his rifle on the passenger seat. "Hey man, you planning on driving right through the shed, or do you want to see if this thing opens up in some way? Ain't like they got the SUV in here by magic."

Ryan waved a hand. "I figured you had that covered."

Miguel snorted and went toward the back of the shed. All except Ryan joined him. It didn't take long to figure out a series of simple locks kept the back wall in place. Once each lock was opened the wall could be pushed out and up, and then slid into place overhead.

"Let's go slow pokes."

"You remember how to drive?" Miguel asked as he took his seat.

"Very funny." Ryan looked over his shoulder. "Everyone take your seats, the express out of fucking nowhere is about to take off."

Beecher slid off his backpack and climbed into the middle row shaking his head in amusement. Those two were definitely fucking. Keller climbed in beside him. Mukada took the back row, squeezing himself into the corner and closing his eyes, as if he could block out the world and commune with a heaven that Beecher was pretty sure had shut its doors to them.

As they rode, Keller rested a hand on his thigh. He barely felt the touch. Sometimes he wondered if day by day he was fading into a ghost. Well that had to be better than being a zombie. Beecher rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. In a few hours, it would be sunset and they'd find a place to stop for the night. Then Keller would be Chris, and it'd be safe to remember what it felt like to be alive. For now, though, he needed to blend into the landscape, just another type of living death.


End file.
